The Ituri Clan & the Sorcerers of Orenda
by booburydeathmuffin
Summary: The saga of Umak, an orc of the Ituri Clan, & Fayanna, a sorceress of the Orendal people. Inspired by D&D 5e, this is a detailed expansion of my character's backstory. This is a work in progress and your comments & feedback are welcome. Hope you enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

~ Chapter 1 ~

* * *

 _"I expect more from you."_

The words still rang in Umak's ears. He let out an angry grunt though there were no other ears around to hear it.

Umak sat in a small, dimly lit cavern. A faint, dripping noise could be heard as water slowly trickled down the cave walls in the passageway that led into the cavern. He had sought out this cavern so he would not be disturbed. He often came here when he wanted to be alone. It was isolated from much of the rest of the cave system so it was unlikely for anyone to wander down this way.

A torch flickered on the wall to the left of the passageway casting shadows across Umak's face. He was relatively small for an orc, but he carried himself as if he towered above those around him. His dark-green skin was marbled with scars and fresh blood. His black hair was tied tightly back with the exception of several defiant strands. He was an impressive and intimidating figure when he wanted to be. But with no one watching, he had let his guard down and you could see in his posture and his expression that he was still young and filled with uncertainty. His steely-gray eyes were focused on the entrance, but his thoughts were a million miles away.

 _"My father is nothing but a hypocrite,"_ Umak thought to himself. What was the difference anyway? The raid was a means to an end. Some orcs in the Ituri clan may make a sport of how many blood-spattered spellbooks they return with, but that was not the point. No one in the clan could make any sense of the spells within and even if they could, who would be foolish enough to mess with black magic. No, the Ituri raids on the nearby town of Orenda were a necessity. Resources were scarce and raiding them from the townspeople made the difference between life and death.

This had been Umak's first raid. He had thought he was ready. He had been trained for this all of his life. He had studied the town maps. He had sought the advice of all the elder warriors. Yet he had hesitated. It was only for a moment, but the reality of the raid was not what he had expected. He just didn't feel that sense of glory and victory his father and all the elder warriors had spoken of.

 _"Is something wrong with me?"_ He was still unsure why he had hesitated. But he felt his father had been too harsh. " _The raid was a success. My hesitation made no difference. And it was only my first raid."_

Umak had been so lost in his thoughts that he did not immediately notice that another orc had entered the cavern. "Are you still sulking, Umak?"

Umak glanced up to see his closest friend, Varnok, staring down at him disapprovingly. Varnok was all hard edges. His shoulders were broad, his muscles were bulging, and the expression on his face was always severe. Even if Varnok was in a good mood, he never seemed to show it. Umak usually appreciated the fact that Varnok would tell him what he needed to hear rather than just what he wanted to hear. Usually, but not right now.

"I heard what happened." Varnok send bluntly. "What Zaruskar-Arik said to you on the way back from the battle."

"And?" Umak said dismissively.

"And he's right." Varnok said.

Umak glared back at him, but didn't say anything.

Varnok continued. "If you are going to be the leader of this clan, you can't show weakness. Ever. I don't know why you need me to tell you this."

"I don't need you to." Umak shot back.

"Then stop sulking. Sulking is pointless and only makes you look weak." Varnok replied.

Umak felt his anger rising. "I'm not sulking!" As soon as the words left his mouth, he felt like a child. He was only helping to prove Varnok's point. He gathered his composure and continued in a much calmer tone. "None of it matters anyway. Today's raid was a success. I will come and join you shortly."

"It does matter." Varnok pushed. "It matters much more than you seem to realize. How do I see this and you do not?"

Umak said nothing. Why couldn't Varnok just take a hint and leave him be?

"This is war. That raid you call a success? Two Ituri died for that. You may not be the clan leader yet, but we all still watch what you do."

"Maybe I don't want to be leader then." Umak retorted. He knew he was being childish, but Varnok always seemed to know exactly how to get to him.

Varnok was visibly frustrated. "You run from your responsibilities just like you run from battle."

"I didn't run!" Umak's anger grew. "I would never run!"

"You may as well have. At least then we would know where you stand."

Umak couldn't believe what he was hearing. Varnok was testing what little patience he had left. "I stand with the Ituri! There is no question. That should be clear!"

"Yes, it SHOULD be clear. So let your actions show it! When you hesitate you leave room to question." Varnok sighed and his tone softened. "You are my friend. Believe it or not, but I'm trying to help you. You know I'd follow you to the end, but if the others see you as weak the only place you'll end up leading us is to the grave."

Varnok's words felt like a dagger. Umak had thought his father had been too harsh, but his words were nothing compared to this.


	2. Chapter 2

~Chapter 2~

* * *

The structures on the outskirts of Orenda were slightly smoldering and the smell of burning wood was still strong in the air. It was early in the day and the sun had not yet appeared over the snow-covered mountains that completely surrounded the Orendal valley. The town was quiet; just like on any other morning before the sun had risen. However, this was a different sort of quiet. It felt heavy and uneasy; a stark contrast to the din of a battle that had taken place a mere hour ago.

In the center of town, a magnificent citadel stood out from the rest of the quaint log cabins and practical wooden halls that populated the village. It's stone architecture far grander than any of the buildings that circled it. There was nothing else in town quite like it. It was ancient; far older than any living memory. Yet despite the building's age, it seemed oddly untouched by the passage of time. The stonework, as smooth as if it had just been carved, glimmered in the faint morning light.

Within the citadel, the townspeople had gathered in the main hall seeking shelter and protection from the raiding orcs. The raiders had left, but the townspeople remained. Some waiting for reassurance and others demanding answers. Further inside, in a small room behind a locked door, eight figures were gathered debating their next move; keenly aware that the townspeople would only remain patient for so long.

"Those bone-headed brutes killed my apprentice! This cannot stand!" a voice boomed from a middle-aged man, rotund and well-groomed. His copper-colored hair was slicked back and his robes so neatly pressed that it was hard to imagine how he was able to maintain such a dignified appearance after such an intense battle.

"It was not just your nephew, Ekomur. We lost five others today as well." responded a woman in an exasperated tone. She was of a similar age as Ekomur, but was significantly less rotund and much more disheveled looking. Her mousy brown hair in a messy bun and her hazel-colored eyes looking weary. She looked exhausted as she took off her spectacles with her left hand and began using her right to massage the bridge of her nose between her index finger and her thumb.

Ekomur was not listening. "What will I tell my sister? He was _my_ apprentice. _I_ was supposed to keep him safe. _I_ was supposed to protect him."

"You were supposed to teach him to protect himself," a gruff reply came before Ekomur could continue. A slightly younger man stood with his arms crossed over his chest. Resden was an intimidating presence and he was getting tired of listening to Ekomur.

Ekomur glared back at him. He was seething, but said nothing. A young sorceress standing directly to the right of Resden shifted uncomfortably but Resden continued on, seemingly unaware. "Now he is just one less mouth in Orenda to feed. After what those orcs took from us, we may not have enough to feed those that did survive. The winter months will be difficult. How much did we lose?" he asked to no one in particular.

The conversation continued, but the young sorceress standing next to Resden found her attention drifting away and her thoughts turned back to the raid. Ekomur's apprentice had been with her. Atheltar was never a particularly skilled magic user, but his enthusiasm to learn usually seemed to make up for it. It was a terrible way to die. An axe through the skull. The moment replayed over and over in Fayanna's mind.

 _Why did he hesitate? Why did he show her mercy?_ The orc had surprised them. His heavy axe swung down and buried itself in Atheltar's head splitting the skull and sending blood and bits of bone and brain in all directions. But, gruesome as it was, that was not the part that Fayanna found herself dwelling on. It was the look on the orc's face while he did it. Orcs were known to relish the kill, but this one did not seem to be getting any enjoyment out of the action.

Fayanna had stood frozen upon seeing Atheltar's death. All of her training, all of the spells she had painstakenly memorized so that she would be ready, none of it mattered. None of it came to her when she needed it most. She stood there frozen in fear, doing nothing, preparing to die. But the orc's axe never came. The orc wrenched it from Atheltar's skull and just stared back at her. Other orcs began to approach and Fayanna finally came to her senses enough to run. It was humiliating. Athelar didn't have a chance to react. There was nothing he could do. But Fayanna had a chance and did nothing. The only reason she survived was because the orc chose not to kill her.

 _But why?_


End file.
